


World forgive me, I'm so tired

by trialbyfic



Series: they are siblings (and they care for each other) [5]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I think?, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Jonny and Nastya are siblings, Miscommunication, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Self-Hatred, Sibling Bonding, Suicidal Thoughts, all i know is i'm Projecting my Mystery Issue, but they're still gfs and thats important, i might have given nastya steampunk PoTS syndrome, idk - Freeform, theres more jonny and nastya interaction than nastya and aurora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26690212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trialbyfic/pseuds/trialbyfic
Summary: "Jonny, no, stop-" Nastya complains. She doesn't have the energy to fight back, and she practically ragdolls in his grasp. "Not tired like that- physically tired, physically weak-""That's because you've been lying down all day!""No! Shut up about that! It's because of my mechanism, okay?!""Your mechanism?" Jonny echoes, confused. Then he freezes, and his eyes go wide. "You better not have fucking done something to your mechanism," he says dangerously, with a quiet terror to his words.---Jonny and Nastya talk about her almost going Out. (direct sequel to "And I must sleep forever")
Relationships: Jonny d'Ville & Nastya Rasputina, The Aurora/Nastya Rasputina
Series: they are siblings (and they care for each other) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926106
Comments: 28
Kudos: 98





	World forgive me, I'm so tired

**Author's Note:**

> so! while most of the fics in this series are only loosely connected, this one is a direct sequel to [And I must sleep forever,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887574) so you should probably read that first! (and if you've read it already, please take a quick moment to go back and check it's end notes!)
> 
> (there's also a small mention to the end of my [nastya sickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25718974) later on, but you don't need to read it)
> 
> CW's are: discussion abt nastya's suicide/Out attempt, jonny having a Big dissociative episode, and shooting himself during it, a little bit of internalized ableism for nastya, and Tons of self loathing for our poor space pirate engineer. 
> 
> title is a lyric from "Lotus Eaters" by Jessica Law! again!!

Nastya wakes up in fits and starts, her head restlessly tossing back and forth against her pillows. She isn't quite certain of what is waking her up until, on one of her reawakenings, she becomes aware of the full-body ache that encompasses her. She groans miserably, and tries to fall back asleep, but it's too late now, as her discomfort has her unable to drift off.

Nastya takes a breath, deep enough to have her muscles pull tight around the crests of her ribcage, but her lungs still feel desperately deprived of air. She tries it again, and again, to hardly any avail.

Shit. Please don't let it be one of these days, she hopes. Please don't let it be one of these days.

"Aurora?" she gasps out weakly, "Is... is something wrong with your systems... or...?"

"My systems are fine, Nastya. You are not experiencing any empathetic pain," Aurora replies apologetically. "I am afraid that your exhaustion is yours alone."

"Fuck." Nastya tries to sit up, and finds that her back is too weak to support her, so she falls onto her side with a tired grunt, and drags her arm up to rest it beneath her head. Her limbs feel practically numb with the intensity of their aching, and she curls into herself with a small whimper.

It happens like this, sometimes, where Nastya's veins can't properly distribute her heavy quicksilver blood around her body, and her muscles consequently become weak and painful from the lack of blood supply.

She can't do much of anything besides shifting around her bed on those days- not without it being painful and exhausting, at least. She's not immobilized, and she could, technically, get up and walk, or repair engines, or interact with the crew.

("Is it really that bad, then?" Some part of her brain criticizes. "Is it really that bad if you can still move? Maybe you're just being lazy. You should get up.")

(Nastya quickly tells that part of her brain to fuck off.)

None of the crew knows that this happens to her, despite the many millenia that they've shared together. They're used to her hiding away for days and weeks on end, so why would they find this suspicious? Why would they ever find the need question her about it?

Even on the rare occasion where they would note something about it- her small gasps for air as her heart pounded in a futile attempt to circulate her blood, her trembling hands when adrenaline would be thrown into the fruitless fight- she's made sure to lie to them. A secret such as this, Nastya feels, is vital to keep, whether for better or worse.

(For the worst, Nastya used to think, as a glitch in her modified Augmented Reality Interface or with her quicksilver blood would leave her in horrendous pain, and she would hide it from Carmilla for as long as she could.)

(For the better, she would regret, when Carmilla would finally find out, and her face would fall with genuine sympathy and sadness- before leading Nastya to her lab for an inevitable round of painful surgery and experimentation to solve the issue.)

(Yet, just like most issues that plagued her mechanism, Carmilla knew about this affect on Nastya, and had tried to bring it up on occasion- suggesting finding her a mobility aid, or offering to find some sort of medicine to ease it with- but Nastya had shut down nearly every conversation.)

(Even though Carmilla never intended to fix it, never even hinted it at, any discussion of mechanism errors with Carmilla struck fear deep into Nastya's core. So, in an attempt to avoid it being brought up again, it had become routine to hide her symptoms, and to lie about it, even after their creator left.)

Nastya sighs into her pillow, fully prepared to spend an indeterminable amount of days in this state of exhausted pain, with only Aurora for company, and unbothered by the crew.

And that's how it goes- for just four hours, before there's a knock at her door.

"Nastya?" It's Brian's voice. "Are you alright? It's just- it's 6 in the afternoon, and we haven't seen you at all today...?"

Ah. Of course. She's barely been out of the crew's sight in the seven days since she nearly left Out of the airlock, and there's almost always been at least one of them next to her, in the times when she isn't in her room, or talking with Aurora in the engines.

They aren't doing it to deprive her of privacy, though- if she looks even the slightest bit uncomfortable, as if she wants space, then whoever's near her immediately offers to leave. No, they're doing it out of regret, which she can see reflected in their faces, and hear carried in their tones- regret that they haven't made more attempts to include her, to talk to her, to just hang out with her.

Nastya takes another deep breath, and tries her best at a normal voice, but what comes out is more of a strained exhale. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You don't really sound fine."

"I said... I'm fine. Your concern is appreciated, however."

"Okay, um- right. Well, I hope we'll see you soon, Nastya." His retreating footsteps sound outside the door, and Nastya almost feels bad for worrying them. (Almost. It's a secret vitally kept, she reminds herself.)

Her weakness doesn't get better the next day, or the day after that. In fact, it doesn't get better through the entire week, during which she gets two more knocks on her door- on the fourth day from Ashes, and on the fifth day from Ivy.

Nastya sends them off with a reassurance similar to what she'd given Brian- yes, she's fine, she's sure she's fine, she knows they're there for her, their concern is appreciated, goodbye.

She's kind of upset when they don't press further, demanding an answer or pleading to come into her room, as it feels almost like being given up on. But she's also annoyed when they do press further, so she unceremoniously shoves her feelings aside until she can make up her damn mind.

(More than that, she's upset that Jonny, of all people, hasn't knocked yet. But it's okay, she reassures herself- he's not required to care if she's alright, and therefore isn't doing anything bad by ignoring her.)

***

Jonny stares unblinkingly into the mirror in his room, laughing wildly. It's all he can do, when faced with such a terrifying sensation- laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

He doesn't recognize the person in the mirror. Or does he? That's him, isn't it? Him. Who's him? Is that him?

He tears his gaze away from the mirror to stare at his arms. He flexes his fingers, rotates his wrist, extends his arm- is that an arm? Has he always just had two of them? He feels like he should have more, or maybe less. But not two. Two can't be right.

Did he always feel this way, like he was locked somewhere outside of himself (him? him?), or contrarily, buried so deep within himself, that whatever's happening to his body at any given moment is completely and entirely out of his control?

No, he remembers- something frightening had happened, where fear had made a home in his throat, with sunken and serrated claws that choked away his words just when he needed them the most- needed the right ones, eloquent ones, ones to change and persuade and keep her here, keep her safe, keep her keep her stop her stop her-

He'd been fine for the first week, until the reality of what had nearly happened truly sank in (fear and claws and he couldn't say the right words, couldn't think, he almost lost her-), and that's when this- whatever it is- had kicked in.

He'd tried shooting himself to get out of it, in the beginning, but he only ended up digging himself in deeper.

Five bullets in the chamber. Is that pain that he's feeling? How can he know? What if he's imagining it?

Four bullets in the chamber. Is that pain that he's feeling? How can he know? What if he's imagining it?

Three bullets in the chamber. Is it real?

Two. One. Is it real? Is it real? What's pain supposed to feel like, again?

Zero bullets, and it stays that way. It isn't helping. He's scared. He's laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing.

Jonny thinks that he talks to some of the crew during the week, but his mouth follows a script he isn't privy to, and their words like sand slip out of his mind. So, no, he hasn't spoken to anyone. Why would he think that he has?

(And it's because of this haze that he doesn't realize he hasn't seen Nastya for several days.)

On the seventh day, he looks into the mirror, prepared for another bout of hapless and hopeless laughing and confusion- when recognition suddenly and surprisingly sparks. Yes, that's him, that's his face, his hands, his mouth that opens and falls to clack his teeth down painfully, and- ouch. Yup. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, he's back.

He walks onto the Bridge later on, heading for his seat and his console, when he notices Nastya's empty seat. He pauses in his stride, and looks around. There's three other people on the Bridge today- Brian, Ashes, and Ivy.

"Huh. Does anyone know where Nastya is?" Jonny asks to the group.

"She's... been in her room for the past week." Brian says. "I told you that yesterday."

"Oh. I- uh- I wasn't listening."

"Clearly," Ivy remarks.

"Wait, a week...? Has anyone checked on her?"

"Three of us, I think," Ashes says. "Brian, Ivy, and I. She told us she was fine."

"And have you actually seen her, or just talked to her through the door?"

"Through the door," Brian replies. Ivy and Ashes nod in agreement.

"So, what you're telling me is... that it's been 14 days since she almost threw herself out of an airlock, and you haven't seen her for 7 of those days?"

"She sounded tired," Brian defends, "Really tired. I didn't want to push her."

"I thought she just needed more time to recharge, after what nearly happened," Ashes explains.

"Ashes had just checked on her the day before I did, so I figured not much had changed," Ivy says. "And, like Brian said, she sounded tired, and... weak, kind of."

"Shit." Jonny runs his hand over his mouth and bearded chin as he thinks. "This really doesn't seem right."

"Maybe Nastya will open up her door to you?" Brian suggests. "I know she trusts you more than any of us."

And those words make Jonny feel a certain painful way in his chest, that he tries valiantly to ignore. "Yeah, I... I'll get through to her." He turns on his heel, and marches out of the Bridge.

***

"Nastya?" Jonny knocks loudly on Nastya's door. "Nastya, no one's seen you in a week. You're worrying the crew. Let me in?"

Nastya sighs wearily, and tests her strength by propping herself up on her arms- but they immediately begin shaking, and she rolls onto her back before they can give out.

"Aurora?" she says, "Unlock the door for him?"

The lock on Nastya's door clicks.

"Come in," Nastya calls. Jonny opens the door and walks in slowly, cautiously, sending his hand out to close the door behind him.

"Did I wake you up? It's pretty late for you to be sleeping."

"No, I was awake." Nastya's unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. She really would have rather been asleep, than to be lying awake in unmitigated discomfort.

"Look, why have you been hiding in your room all this time?" Jonny gives up his slow pace to more quickly approach Nastya's bedside. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired."

"Well, you're not going to get any less tired if you keep laying in bed all day. You need to get up and move." Jonny grabs Nastya by her upper arms, and begins trying coax her upright and out of the bed. "Come on, you'll thank me later-"

"Jonny, no, stop-" Nastya complains. She doesn't have the energy to fight back, and she practically ragdolls in his grasp. "Not tired like that- physically tired, physically weak-"

"That's because you've been lying down all day!"

"No! Shut up about that! It's because of my mechanism, okay?!"

"Your mechanism?" Jonny echoes, confused. Then he freezes, and his eyes go wide. "You better not have fucking done something to your mechanism," he says dangerously, with a quiet terror to his words.

"N-no, of course not- it's always acted up like this on occasion, only none of you never noticed. I made sure you didn't."

His eyes flit frantically across her face, perhaps searching for a cue to any dishonesty. "Hmph. If you're lying, I'll kill you," he tries to joke, but it's tense, and his smile is hesitant.

Nastya shakes her head. "I'm not. I swear. Um... let me go? It hurts to sit up."

Jonmy releases his hold, and Nastya flops back down onto the bed. She can't even turn away from him, with whatever energy she'd had being thoroughly spent on that one shift of posture. She closes her eyes tightly, and lets out a pained exhale through her nose.

Jonny silently gazes down at Nastya for a moment, before speaking again. "Want some company?" he offers, gesturing to the vacant right side of her bed.

"Oh. Sure."

Jonny slides out of his boots and clambers onto the mattress beside Nastya, laying on his right side to face her. He doesn't exactly look at her, though. In fact, his gaze seems oddly distant and unfocused as it lingers on his hand that rests on the pillow in front of him. He stares at his fist that clenches and unclenches slowly, almost disbelievingly, as if it's something strange and new.

"Hey," Nastya says suddenly, sharply, and Jonny startles. "You look like you're spacing out."

Jonny opens his mouth and frowns, as if to deny it, but then his face relaxes, and he relents. "Yeah. Yeah, I kind of am."

"Do you want some contact? For grounding?" With an effort, Nastya brings her hand up to the pillow, setting it next to Jonny's. Her palm is open, and her fingers open and close invitingly.

Jonny watches Nastya's struggle to move her limb, his lips pressed tight in uncertainty. "What... what if you laid your head on me?" he suggests, switching to lying on his back, and patting the upper right side of his chest. "The more contact, the better, right? And you won't have to hold anything."

"Hm. Alright." Nastya twists in place, trying to will her body into cooperating with moving her closer to Jonny, but to no success. "Uh... help me to you?" Nastya requests, and Jonny slides an arm under her side and around her back to pull her against him, guiding her head to rest near the right of his collarbone.

"That good?" Jonny asks, and Nastya nods- as much as she can, laying slack against Jonny.

With her ear pressed to his chest, she can hear his heartbeat in clarity. It's a steady tick, tick, tick, that she once would have found unnatural and disconcerting, but now finds comforting.

She still remembers the first time she heard it this clearly- it was early on in her time aboard the Aurora, and she was tucked into the corner of a room with Jonny, as she shook from the newfound and unfamiliar coldness that now encased her body and radiated from her skin.

He was a stranger to her back then, but one she figured she could trust, as he'd wrapped his coat and his arms around her trembling form.

Weak and tired from the exertion of her shaking, Nastya had lowered her head onto his chest, subconsciously prepared for the steady and human thump-thump-thump of healthy veins and ventricles- only to hear the inhuman ticking of something mechanical and metallic, sickeningly foreign in comparison to the meat and flesh that make up a body.

She jolted back and stared at him in fright. He'd told her before that his mechanism was a mechanical heart, but she didn't truly register what that had meant until just then.

"Your heart," she whispered, her tone mingling disgust and fear. "It doesn't beat. It ticks."

"Psh, yeah. I told you that," he said easily, nonchalantly, but there was a certain shade of hurt in his eyes that she's hasn't forgotten, either.

She never mentioned it again. And now, she's come to associate the ticking with what it really means- that Jonny is alive, and close enough to be safe, protected, hidden, hide, hide, they need to hide- what are they doing, laying vulnerable like this? Is the door locked? Are the vents locked? The air ducts?

Footsteps, she needs to listen for footsteps- What if she can't hear them in time? A moment with Carmilla doesn't always spell pain or death, sometimes it spells laughter and smiles and happiness that makes Nastya, for just a brief moment, doubt that anything was ever wrong.

But it could, Nastya is always quick to remember, and she doesn't want to risk it. She's tired, she's so tired of it all, of living beneath the gaze and walking around the thin ice surounding someone with more power than them, who could cause pain at any will or want.

Except, it wasn't at any will or want- Carmilla loved them, she'd sworn, loved her "children", cared for them, never let them starve, never treated them with the same distant coldness of a simple test subject- but that just made it worse, when they would come under her knife.

Carmilla cared for them, and yet she had hurt them. Maybe it was out of a believed goodness, or an inevitable necessity, but she still caused pain. Nastya could still recall it, could still recoil in fear because of it.

Could. Cared. Had. Past tense. Why is she thinking in past tense?

Oh.

Right.

Carmilla's gone.

Nastya's momentary panic goes unnoticed, as she simply lays still the entire time. The only thing that could've possibly given her away was the quickening of her breaths, which Jonny might not have even noticed, if he's still spacing out.

Nastya presses her head more firmly to Jonny's chest, as if getting closer would somehow keep her safe, and keep the memories away.

It won't. It never did. But the false pretense of safety is always nice, despite it.

There's something sacred to being helplessly scared alongside someone, in the way she was with Jonny, Nastya thinks- something unbreakable that's forged in the shared fear, to be held near and dear, to be able to turn to and say "This happened to both of us. We were frightened in unity. There was nothing we could do, yet we did it together."

Nastya's hand absentmindedly curls into a claw where it rests on the shirt over Jonny's chest, and he notices.

"Nastya? Something wrong?"

Nastya becomes aware the curl of her hand, and lets it relax. "I... I missed this," she says, and the sadness in her voice surprises even her. "Being next to you, like this. We should do it more often."

Jonny is quiet for a moment before responding, and when he does, he seems to be fighting a losing battle against the emotional strain in his voice. "Y-yeah. Okay. We'll do it more often."

They fall back into silence, as Jonny brings his right hand up to run it through Nastya's hair. It isn't a smooth run, and his fingers get caught on some tangles, but he carefully begins working through them. "Do you want to try to fall asleep?" he asks quietly. "I wouldn't mind. It might kickstart your mechanism into working properly."

"Mmm... yeah." Nastya takes a steadying breath, an attempt to reset her state of mind from its haunting recollections, and closes her eyes.

Several minutes go by like this, with the only sounds being Nastya's now even and light breathing, and the brushing of her hair against Jonny's hand as he gently untangles various strands. Nastya finds herself very nearly dozing off, her eyelids heavy and her thoughts buzzing into incomprehensible nonsense, when Jonny speaks into the silence.

"You asleep?" he asks. Nastya is about to reply, but decides against it. She's almost asleep, anyway- how much can it matter?

Apparently, it matters a lot, because after a few seconds of no reply, Jonny starts to talk in hushed whispers to Nastya, with the air of someone who's confident they won't be truly listened to. He believes that she's asleep.

"You piece of shit," he hisses angrily, "You- you almost left us. You almost fucking left us."

His hand stills in her hair to hold the back of her head. "-What were we supposed to do, if you had gone? How was I supposed to go back into the ship, with no more Nastya? Back into my room, with no more Nastya? How was I supposed to face the others, and tell them that we would never see you again?"

Nastya can feel Jonny's chest begin to quake beneath her head, can hear his stuttered breathing, and- oh, no. He's crying, isn't he?

Jonny takes a short gasp for air, and continues. "And you- you fucker, you goddamn fucker- you didn't say a thing! You didn't tell anyone! Why?! Did you think we'd be happy? That we'd be glad to get rid of you? That we'd shrug and send you on your merry-fucking-way, without even trying to stop you?"

This, Nastya sadly admits to herself, is true. She'd run the scenarios through her head countless times, and couldn't find a single configuration where they wouldn't at least be okay with her leaving.

Really, why wouldn't they be? What did she ever have to offer them, besides some basic engineering knowledge, that she'd already passed onto Ashes? What did she contribute? How was she ever a vital part of the crew?

The Mechanisms, immortal space pirate crew aboard the starship Aurora, having fun, adventure, violence! And- oh, yeah. Their engineer, who hardly ever joins them for said fun, or adventure. Who purposefully avoids them, hides way whenever she can. Who bites about bitter words about how intolerable they all are.

They don't even know why they keep her, at this point. Probably out of sentimentality more than anything. But The Mechanisms aren't exactly known for scrabbling to hold onto their saccharine memories, so if she were to threaten to leave, well... who would stop her?

Who would do more than grin and let out a pleased sigh, relieved at the removal of such a dead weight?

It was fine, Nastya had assured herself over and over, day after day, through thick tears and a tight throat. It was fine, because she hadn't exactly earned their regards and concern, so she couldn't be upset that they wouldn't care.

Despite that, some corner of her mind, clawing and screaming to stay alive, had tried to tell her that they did care, tried to focus on their actions- didn't they cheer her up, when she was sad? Didn't they hold her when she cried? Didn't she make them laugh? Didn't they always take a moment to extend the offer for any group activity to her, even if she denied?

But Nastya herself is a living testament to how easy it is to present a lie for thousands of years on end, with no one being any the wiser. And so, paired with the logicality of it, there was truly no way that they could honestly care.

Besides, even if they didn't have such predispostitions, she's sure that all of the crew are familiar the overwhelming thrall of a permanent death, of a definite end to the stretching horizon of their lives. So, if anyone found her at the airlock, the only reaction she had anticipated was an understanding nod, and the sight of their retreating back as they turned away, fating her alone to a drifitng eternity amongst the stars.

She'd still wanted to give her family their various goodbyes, however. Even if they weren't particularly fond of her. And yet- cowardly, selfishly- she had failed to see it through, on that final day.

Nastya hadn't begun to doubt any of her beliefs until after that day, as her family flocked to give her attention and care in their own ways. Tim, requesting her help with configuring some new guns, despite not really needing the aid- Ivy, asking for Nastya's insight on her latest research project, hanging bright-eyed and attentive onto every thought and word given- Ashes, simply hanging out with her, sharing jokes and stories.

(It's still just doubt, though, and there's quite some ways to go before they harden into fully-fledged beliefs. But the path has begun, and the ways they prove her worries wrong are numerous and so, so special.)

When it came to the Aurora, Nastya's case was even stronger. She'd figured that whoever Aurora was becoming wouldn't want this rancid memory walking aboard her, a sour and putrid reminder of where she came from, and who she no longer was. After all, a butterfly doesn't keep it's chrysalis after it breaks free. The butterfly flutters away, onto a new life, and promptly leaves the useless shell behind.

(That thought, at least, Nastya had shared with Aurora in the few days after her attempt. And Aurora, gracious and kind and full to the brim with love for Nastya, had gently reconfigured the analogy for her.)

("You are not the chrysalis, Nastya. You are one of the imaginal disks that the caterpillar carries with itself through the transformation, that help it shape and mold its new form. The chrysalis is vital, yes, but would the caterpillar know how become a butterfly without the disks? No. It would not. You are an essential part of who I have become, and I would not want to leave you behind for any reason.")

(Those words made Nastya cry for hours.)

Jonny's breathing slows, and he seems to be winding down from the peak of his anger. But his talking hasn't stopped- just become lower, more solemn.

"You know, for a moment, when I caught you at the airlock, I thought- I thought I wouldn't be able to stop you. And all I could do was... hope your death was fast, and that it wouldn't hurt you. Hope that you wouldn't suffer anymore, from whatever was making you leave in the first place."

Oh. Oh god. Nastya isn't sure how much more of this she can take without reacting, and giving away the fact that she's been awake this entire time.

Jonny's hand resumes it's track through her hair, his fingertips delicately trailing along her scalp. "Oh," he says softly, a realization, and he takes Nastya's glasses off of her face, then reaches around her to place them on her nightstand, with a small clink of metal frame being set onto wood. "That couldn't have been comfortable."

It wasn't, but she had barely noticed, too distracted by Jonny's words.

He settles back into his previous position, and Nastya wishes and hopes that he won't go on, won't bring up any more memories that'll hurt them both, won't ache into the silence when she can't soothe him without risking both of their composure.

Her wishes are instantly shattered.

"...You told me something, once," Jonny starts up, with the abruptness of a sudden recollection. "I don't know if you'll remember it, since it was ages ago, but it was just after we'd airlocked the Doc for the first time- just after..." his voice breaks slightly, "-just after we'd promised to stay alive for as long as we had each other."

"-We were getting out shot glasses and whiskey, planning to get drunk off of our asses. We'd poured ourselves five glasses each, and I had already downed two of mine, when I noticed you hadn't touched yours. You were just staring at it, and frowning."

"Then your head suddenly tipped up, like you'd realized something, and you looked me straight in the eyes, and said, 'You're my firelight'."

"It didn't sound like something you would say to me, though, and I asked you if you'd meant to tell that to Aurora. But you shook your head, and explained."

"'If Aurora is my sunshine, then you are my firelight'," Jonny repeats her words, "'It's true that a sun does many helpful acts- it dries puddles after a rain, it fuels the growth of flora, it illuminates the world during the day- but what if it's nighttime? What if the weather is cold? What if I just want my house to smell like fresh embers and burning wood?'"

"'Try as it might, the sunshine can't provide that for me. And that's where you come in. You're my firelight, Jonny, and a staple of my home.'"

"-And you said that last part with a smile, one of your small ones that only ticks up the left side of your mouth, and... oh, fucking shit, Nastya," Jonny's tone changes to sorrowful disbelief as he breaks from the recall, "How could I ever be prepared to never see your smile again?"

"A-anyway," Jonny continues, haltingly as he tries to calm down enough to keep speaking, "I didn't know what'd made you say that, or how to even respond, so I just emptied my third glass. Then you went back to your drink, casual as anything. As if you hadn't just said something that would follow me for centuries."

Jonny's hand moves from her hair to cup the side of her face, and her stubble scratches lightly against his palm. "So, I can't help but wonder... if you left, wouldn't you miss me? Wouldn't you want your firelight back?"

He swallows, takes a breath, and his next words sound more choked than anything else he's said today.

"...Because I would want to know where my light went, Nastya."

At that, Nastya's face crumples, and she finally dissolves into tears.

Jonny immediately goes still. "You- Nastya?" he says uncertainly, bordering fearful, "Wh- Fuck, how much did you hear?!"

"All of it. I heard all of it," she coughs out past a sob.

"Oh no. No, no, I- I didn't know you were awake- I wasn't trying to guilt you, I swear-"

"I know, I know," Nastya hastens to reassure. "Look, Jonny- of course I remember saying that. A-and of course I'd miss you! But I was- presently am, unfortunately- so resigned to the darkness, that it hardly mattered by the time I was leaving. It wasn't you or the crew's fault, and it still wouldn't be your fault, when I... if it happens again."

Jonny moves his arms down to cradle her around her back, as if he can keep her safe and sound by just holding her near. "Don't go. Don't you dare go."

Nastya hiccups and gasps as her tears flow freely. "I can't promise that. It wouldn't be fair if I did. I'm sorry that I promised it all, ever."

"No... Nastya, Nastya, Nastya, no," he repeats her name, desperate and lost.

Nastya shifts closer to Jonny, and tucks her face into the hollow of his neck. "I told you that I'd think about it. I told Aurora that I'd try. That's all I can do. Really, out of any of us, don't you understand the temptation of death the most?"

"Yeah, but it's been a long time since I've known it with the same threat of permanence that you do."

"...Yes, I suppose it has."

Jonny sighs, worn and worried. "Just... come to me, if you feel you're about to leave? Come to any of us, really. I don't want to lose you. Not like that." The honesty sounds unfamiliar and unsure in Jonny's mouth, but it's honesty all the same.

Nastya doesn't reply, sniffling quietly into Jonny's shirt.

"Nastya, I mean it," he says tensely. "I'd rather find you needing me, knocking at my door, than at the airlock, two seconds away from... from fucking dying, practically."

"...Okay," she says hoarsely, after a pause. "Okay."

"Is there anything you need, right now?" Jonny tries at a relaxed, soothing tone- but from the concerningly rapid tick-tick-tick-tick of his heart, Nastya knows that he's anything but relaxed.

"Just hold me. I want to try to sleep for real, this time."

Jonny tightens his hold around Nastya. "Alright. You do that. I'm right here."

And Nastya's tired enough that she doesn't even feel herself dozing off, before she's fast asleep.

She doesn't feel Jonny wipe her lingering tears away, either.

***

Jonny stretches on the bed behind her, grunting as his joints pop harshly. "Mmmornin'," he drawls sleepily.

"Mhm," Nastya says distractedly, as she debates whether to stand up or not, sitting on the edge of her bed with her feet to the ground.

"Is your mechanism doing better?" Jonny asks.

Nastya doesn't know how to respond. Technically, yes, her body is doing better- but it's not at 100 percent, either, and she doesn't think that she'll be up for anything more than lazing around for the day.

Would it be a lie, if she said she was less tired, only to not act like it? Would it be a lie, if she said she was still tired, when in fact, she can do more than she was able to yesterday?

She doesn't know where the expectations lie, and she doesn't know how to meet them.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Is what she ends up replying with.

"I want you to tell me the truth...?" he says, as if it's obvious.

"Oh, uh... well, yes, and no. I'm less tired, but not enough to do anything taxing."

"Hmm. Are you up for walking?"

"Not a lot, but yes."

"Then come to the Common? You can just hang around there."

Nastya looks down at her pajamas- a dingy gray long sleeve, and a wrinkled black pair of pajama bottoms. "Fine. Let me get ready."

"I'll see you there," Jonny says with a nod, and he slides into his boots, then leaves Nastya's room.

***

When Nastya walks into the Common, she sees Ivy and Jonny sitting on opposite ends of the couch, as Raphaella and Tim hover over them, all corralled around a paper that sits in Ivy's lap.

Ivy looks up, and upon spotting Nastya, smiles and claps her hands excitedly. "Oh, Nastya! You can settle this debate for us!"

"Mm. What are the risks?"

"None, this time," Tim says. "We're planning to schedule a Movie Night, once a week, but we need to decide the cycling order of who chooses the movie."

"Here, come look at the list, give us your opinion." Ivy pats the empty space beside her, and Nastya joins Ivy and Jonny on the couch, placed between them. Ivy offers Nastya a pen, then sets the paper in her lap.

"That's my list," Ivy points at the top left of the page, "Going in alphabetical order, based on our first names."

"That's Jonny's list," Ivy's finger moves to a list below hers, "From the order that we all joined the crew."

"That's mine," Raphaella speaks up, pointing to the far top right, "And I tried to do it in alphabetical order of our LAST names," Raphaella looks up to glare at Tim, "-But SOME bastards aboard this ship can't decide whether their title is their first name or not, so apparently it's 'unfair'."

Tim sticks his tongue out at Raphaella, and she returns the gesture in kind.

"And that's Tim's list," Ivy continues, dutifully ignoring the friendly, yet not-so-friendly spat between Raphaella and Tim. "Which is in reversed alphabetical order of Raphaella's list, with the reason being- and I quote- to 'Make a cooler list than Raph'."

"And I'm right," Tim asserts. Raphaella sends out a wing to smack the back of his head.

"Hmm..." Nastya squints down at the paper. "In my opinion, your list is almost right, Ivy."

"Yes!"

"But not quite."

"Aw."

Nastya begins writing her own list, between Ivy's and Raphaella's. Her handwriting is slightly shaky as a small tremor wracks her hands, and she grips the pen tighter. "You had Ashes in the right place, and the same with Brian- but for the wrong reason."

Jonny narrows his eyes at Nastya's list. "You're using his 'Drumbot' title as his first name?"

"It's not quite a title though, is it? It's sort of interchangeable for his first name- not like the 'doctor' or 'baron' in Marius's name."

"But it bumped me further down the list!"

"Does it matter? It'll take eight weeks before it's your turn again, regardless of your placement."

"It's the principal of it, Nastya!"

"Hmph. Well, are you going to accept my list or not?"

"We'll have to, if we ever want to make a decision," Ivy says, and she takes the paper and pen back from Nastya. "Now, for the rules! Any suggestions, Nastya?"

"No shooting during movie night," Nastya says immediately.

"Oh, yeah, good idea- we should probably start with the violence rules-" Ivy begins hastily scribbling down some base rules, biting her lip between her teeth as she does.

"No killing or maiming based on the choice of movie?" Jonny complains, as he watches Ivy write. "How am I supposed to get back at Marius for his terrible cinematic taste?"

"You aren't."

"Ugh. Unimaginable."

They bat around and contest ideas as a group for some time, until the rules are laid out, and Ivy sweeps the paper up and tucks the pen behind her ear, striding out to go make a cleaner copy of the sheet.

Tim and Raphaella file out of the Common, arguing lightly amongst themselves, in a way that kind of reminds Nastya of herself and Jonny.

Jonny, who silently opens his arms when the Common is empty, allowing Nastya to tiredly fall into them.

"Are you alright, being out here?" he asks, "Need to go back to your room?"

Nastya shakes her head. "I'm as fine as I will be, for now."

And it's not a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> *gasp* secret raphaella and tim sibling-like relationship?? oh?? 
> 
> anyway, yk what my mundane wish is? that one day someone will like one of my fics enough to make fanart of it. im pretty sure i share this wish with like, every other fic writer ever- feels like that'd be the Maximum Achievement, doesn't it?
> 
> im on tumblr at [orangezinnia!](https://orangezinnia.tumblr.com) (update 09/29/2020 - i've made a post delving into my thoughts behind the [Firelight metaphor!](https://orangezinnia.tumblr.com/post/630642535396769792/please-tell-me-your-thoughts-about-the-firelight) as well as [various references!](https://orangezinnia.tumblr.com/post/631016792785076224/please-tell-me-your-thoughts-about-the-firelight) )
> 
> and please check out this [cool fanart,](https://lettoheart.tumblr.com/post/630529544920678400/check-this-fic-out-man-ow) please my life goal is complete 
> 
> (update 10/21/2020 - i added two extra paragraphs to clear up some things w carmilla and nastya hiding her PoTS near the beginning, because i reread it and thought Uh Oh, That Might Seem Ableist! and we here at trialbyfic do not condone ableist portrayals of carmilla. i hope i did ok?)
> 
> comments are always welcome and appreciated <3 i siphon the energy given to me by each one to fuel my next fic <3


End file.
